


Home for the Heart

by makingitwork



Series: Peter/Stiles [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Moving, Pre-Established Relationship, father/son loving, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Stiles goes house hunting</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by:
> 
> me!
> 
> pandamonium_express who said 'Ooh I'd like to see apartment hunting too!'
> 
> moonlightcalls who said ' i say aye! to apartment hunting'
> 
> ladydanni who said 'I'm so up for aartment hunting'
> 
> Insomniac2010 who said 'Apartment hunting sounds awesome'
> 
> Now that I think about it, this fic isn't really apartment hunting...
> 
> I need to watch more Location, Location, Location

'My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close,' Stiles hummed, bopping gently as he searched the cupboards, beaming delightedly upon finding his pot of Nutella, he unscrewed the white lid, and picked up a spoon, sighing happily around the mouthful, leaping onto the sofa, and eyes-fixing onto the rerun of _The Flash._ Peter cleared his throat and Stiles jumped a little, coughing 'Peter! I thought you and Derek were going to visit that other pack?'

'Finished.' Peter said smoothly, watching him carefully. Stiles, nineteen and happy, squinted at him

'Do you...want some?' He offered the pot, and Peter was over to him, kissing Stiles and licking into his mouth at the pleasant gasp of surprise. Peter nuzzled his neck gently and Stiles relaxed 'You look nervous,' he noted, resting his feet on Peter's lap and leaning across the sofa 'anything you wanna share with your soul mate?'

Peter looked at him, cocking his head, listening to his heartbeat 'I'm not sure yet.'

'Peter,' Stiles frowned 'you know you can tell me anything.'

'I know. I just...I don't know if you're ready for the answer I want.'

Stiles sat forward, heels digging into Peter's thighs a little, and he set his pot of Nutella to the side, licking his lips thoughtfully. He ran a hand through his soft black hair, and blew out a gust of air through his lips. 'I tell you everything.' He says, more like reminds, and Peter closes his eyes 'always. Even if it might hurt you, I always, always tell you. Because I know you want to know what's on my mind. And-'

'Alright, alright,' Peter flicks his forehead, and Stiles shakes triumphantly, looking at him with wide expectant doe eyes. 'I was just thinking...maybe we should look for our own place.'

Stiles freezes as though it was the last thing he expected. 'Like...an apartment?' Peter nods, lips thinned as though he expected this reaction. Stiles swallows 'it's not that I don't want too.' He says honestly 'but my dad...he'd be all alone.'

Peter's eyes soften 'so are you going to live with him forever?'

'No,' Stiles says automatically 'but I...' He nods his head 'I'll talk to him.'

'We don't have too, Stiles. This is your choice. It doesn't have to be a yes or a no, it can be a not now? I don't want to force you into anything, if you don't feel as though we're ready, we can wait.'

...

...

...

John is encouraging.

He's smiling and happy and says he's put aside a little fund to help towards it though Stiles thinks that's silly because Peter is made of money and won't let them pay anyway.

John loves his son. He's currently sitting on the couch watching some comedy, and Stiles is on the floor, leaning against his legs, scrolling through... 'Stiles? Is that my laptop?'

'Yeah,' Stiles murmurs distractedly, looking though old case files, eyes focused intently

'You have my password?'

'I have all your passwords.' Stiles murmurs, clicking and typing

'Gimmie my laptop.'

'You're sleeping. This is a dream.'

'Stiles.'

'Oooohhhhhh.' He imitates a ghost sound, and John just laughs, running his fingers through Stiles' hair, and looking down at his son. His _son._ His whole world. He would do anything for him. From the tiny things to the big things. It's scary. It's terrifying to love someone so much that you know you'd risk it all for them. John would burn down the Sheriff's station, he would risk his life and take a bullet time and time again because Stiles is his son and he loves him.

'I'm going to miss you,' he whispers, but Stiles doesn't hear. A warm, solid, reassuring weight against his leg.

John's going to miss the thudding as Stiles falls off his bed. Miss the clacking of keys, and the smell of melted chocolate. He's going to miss Stiles' clothes strewn everywhere and the school books all over the table. He's going to miss the hand pulling the whiskey away. He's going to miss his son. He's going to miss pretending to be asleep so he can feel Stiles kiss his cheek and cover him with a blanket.

It's not going to be the same.

Stiles is always going to be his son.

...

...

...

'Um...' Stiles looks around 'do we have any need for a glass elevator though, Peter?'

It's extremely pristine, with glass and marble everything. Stiles has to squint because everything's so shiny and reflective and expensive looking. He feels uncomfortable, like a kid in an antiques shop. Peter seems more at ease, but takes in Stiles' discomfort quickly, thanking the agent and leaving.

They see two more before they find it.

It's on the fourth floor of an apartment complex, they're number seven, and they open the door, and Stiles runs inside towards the wall of just glass windows. He laughs at the amazing view, before disappearing and clambering up the stairs to a little second floor where there's two bedrooms and a bathroom. He slides down the bannister, and kicks off his shoes. 'I like it,' he says, and Peter just stares.

It's a newly done room, and so it doesn't smell of anything, really. The kitchen is large and it's mostly open plan which Peter likes. The door is sturdy and the marble countertops glisten. The light fixtures are on the fancy side, but Stiles doesn't mind, he's marvelling at how thick and soft the carpet is.

It's when they're having a closer look upstairs and Stiles jumps onto the double bed, sprawling out and stretching against the white that Peter knows.

'We'll take it.' He says to the estate agent, and she looks mightily pleased with herself.

...

...

...

Peter grimaces. 'But I don't want too.'

Stiles has finally finished furnishing the apartment. He'd been surprisingly strict about it, wanting to impress Peter, and so forcing him to sit on the couch while he unpacked the boxes and sorted away the dishes and the clothes and the rugs and the pillows and the blankets, as he brought in their bits and pieces. A dream catcher on the headboard, a marvel lamp, glow in the dark stickers along the bannister because Stiles is clumsy. He puts his little diamond wolf statue on the mantle beside their bedroom window, and the place looks tidy and wonderful and lived in.

Stiles pouts at him, holding one of the nine gift baskets 'But they're our neighbours.' He says plaintively. Peter sets down his newspaper

'Yes. But I don't want to talk to them.'

Stiles glowers at him 'but then how are we going to make friends?'

Peter balks 'make friends? With the people who live in our building? _Why?'_

Stiles laughs at him, and heads for the door. 'I'll go alone then. Door to door. Smelling as wonderful and alluring as I do. Maybe I'll even flirt-' Peter holds the door open for him and Stiles grins.

The neighbours are nice, and are charmed by Stiles' quirky but kind approach. Peter watches, maybe a little impressed. Because Stiles is approachable and good natured and good hearted. He can keep the conversation going and inquires correctly about people's lives.

Valerie from four invites them in for tea and Peter hovers uncomfortably whilst Stiles tells her the story of the time Peter dragged a giant antelope onto the porch. She pats Stiles' head and even gives Peter a mince pie, so he supposes she's not all bad.

'I like them,' Stiles declares happily once they get back into their own apartment, all gift baskets been given out. 'We should host a dinner party. Invite them all!' He sits up at his apparently genius idea 'Yes! Let's do that! Oh my god, Lydia knows everything about wine, I'll text her-'

'Now?' Peter pouts now, and Stiles lets Peter wrap him up in muscled arms 'can't we do that tomorrow? We do have to christen every room of our new home.'

Stiles goes pliant in his arms, and grins 'yes I suppose I'll have to wait.'

...

...

...

John groans, shifting in the hospital bed, only to relax. He's okay. He's okay. Damn drunk drivers might be the death of him instead of all the gruesome supernatural. That would be an ironic twist of fate. He stiffens again, realising that there's a warm weight against his side. He looks down to see Stiles, twenty years old and still looking like a teenager curled into his side. There are research books over the bed and John rolls his eyes when he sees they're all about drunk driving and law suits and medical liabilities.

He cups Stiles' neck.

His little boy.  

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt and Comment!


End file.
